Last night the Village Voice held their 54th annual Obies awards at Webster Hall, doin' that Off-Broadway awards thang. Vivian and Anastasia wandered in off the streets, humble girls from broken homes.

And now, a quick check of the agenda ... oh yes, dating advice. When you see an attractive person in a discotheque, approach them calmly, tap them on the shoulder, and, at the top of your lungs, scream, "Date me or I will fire you!!!"

Hoop is an artist and party promoter. He was pals with Baird Jones and still sends out party e-mails under his name, even though Baird is (cough cough) dead.

Espying this lovely Jewel of the Nile and the Hudson, I approached her, tapped her on the shoulder, and got as far as "Date me or I will fi..." before she connected with the larynx gouge.

Kevin T. Carroll won an Obie for "sustained excellence of performance." I would have nominated him for best suit too, but that was not in my power. What is in my power is to open up the floor to questions. Yes, you ma'am, with the pantyhose over your face.

WOMAN: Sorry about that. I was just wondering what your thoughts were on French cinema.

SK: Excellent question. The young French cinema must become a little less egotistically and more and more academically urban in spirit. Three-quarters of the subjects having contemporary relevance which it deals with would be better and more at home in a milieu other than Paris.

[Sound of audience staring blankly at speaker.]

If, like me, you fantasize incessantly about running away and eloping with a pair of ravishing drag queens, you might want to check these ladies out. Violet Temper and Linda Simpson. Linda, on the left, is the promotions director for, let me just consult her business card here ... The Cock.

Sxip Shirey entertained the crowd with his peculiarly excellent synthed-out harmonica. His companion on stage violated the terms of her contract and was promptly suspended.

I think these were for sale. The paintings, not the succulent young men.

Now, I'll open up the floor for questions. You sir, in the tuxedo.

MAN: Oh thankth. Tho, it appearth ath though your responth to the earlier question about Frenchth thinema ith a word-for-word snatch from an ethay by Jean Luc Godard.

SK: Wow, that's odd. Nice lisp, by the way.

MAN — Thankth.

SK: Probably what happened — and I want to extend my sincere apologies to Jean-Luc — is that I was having a conversation with my neighbor across the alley, through two plastic cups strung together with some dental floss — I think it was mint — and, you see, he had attended several raves at the Sorbonne in the mid-90's, so, that probably explains it. Now, if you will quietly just crawl into a corner and go fuck yourself, I would appreciate it, especially as you probably did not even attend Yale.